


Inkling

by LittlePeony



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Gen, kinda nsfw?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 22:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30095943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePeony/pseuds/LittlePeony
Summary: Jimmy can't sleep
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Inkling

**Author's Note:**

> A hint of a hint of NSF. Like how LaCroix says it tastes like a hint of strawberry.

I always felt like the name 'midnight black' was always so misleading. 

Not the paint color, although really, it could include it, if I decided to span the horizons over what I had in mind. 

No, the color of the sky at such an hour. That was what I was talking about. Because, normally, when you think of it, the name gives off such images of absolute deep darkness to come to mind. 'Vibes,' some are apt to call it. I think it's stigma. But right now, I couldn't agree any less. And I found myself displeased in knowing that I lived among such people who would argue this with me- when I was staring at the truth right at this moment. 

Which, is much to say, that I could not find sleep. It's really quite common, I can tell you. And so the window held my gaze as the flame holds captive the moths, save for the danger that comes upon their dusted wings, and not to mine. 

Well, not yet, anyhow. 

I'm not sure why I was wondering about the history and psychology that came with midnight black. I believe it simply stuck out as odd to me- really, I believe it's a ruddy deep rust color. Burnt, burnt, burnt orange. Smoggy. Civic. And then the framework of the window, the walls I see- those are the color of charcoal that was to stay on paper, but ended up on your fingers. 

Distaste sat in my mouth as I remembered classrooms and sterile fluorescent bulbs. 

It lingered with me as I rolled onto my back, and stared at the ceiling. 

I haven't slept through a whole night in three days. 

Perhaps I should take it as an omen. Omens appear in threes. Three days since I had been home. Three nights since I have slept. Three nights since he last occupied my bed. 

I frowned at that wording. 'My bed.' More, 'by my side' would be correct. 'Sharing the bed I had the luck to sleep in,' better. 'Soiling the sheets with the two of us, on mattresses that were not ours,' made me feel too... 

Longing. 

Kept the frown. I didn't like that either. 

Aching? Melancholy. Feverish, then? 

Christ, had I become so codependent? 

The humming restraint I felt through not allowing myself to come into arousal reminded itself to me through my pelvic region. I wanted to scream. 

But, I was much better than that. 

I looked over at the nightstand. And I eyed the buttons there, and thought with a high amount of self pity and self disgust, that they looked too terribly much like lovely little pills to pop into my mouth, should I indulge my weaker whims and use them. 

I knew just which numbers to press. How long it would take to wait and how many taps my foot would make just to hear him pick up. 

It was never long. 

No one out in the country gets too many phone calls, after all. It's like a gift. Christmas, to get a ring. Much less, at such a time as this. 

He would know. And I knew he would. I wondered if he would look out his window into the sky as he promised me he would be here within the hour. I wondered if he would think about how the inside walls of his home were infinitely more India ink than the sky above the treeline around Jennings Farm. 

But then again, I was in bed. And the warm coils of sheet and quilt and pillow had me here so, so tightly. Lovingly. Soothingly. 

Perhaps I was just lazy. 

I smiled wide. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I would ring him. And perhaps ask him what he thought of the color black while he wrapped his lips around that spot in my neck.


End file.
